The World is van Gogh

Van Gogh was a poet with a paintbrush, working by the light of inspiration's flickering candle, and beset by the shadows of self doubt.

The world is van Gogh

A Poem by H. J. Buell – August, 2014

The world is Monet.

At night.

When colors slip into the sun.

And the lights glow like Christmas.

 

It’s an Unfinished Picasso.

With people.

Trying to put their confused shapes together.

And make themselves feel whole.

 

Sometimes it’s van Gogh.

Angry red.

Drowning in a sea of human ignorance.

And cutting myself to pieces just to stay sane.

 

The world is van Gogh

 

I have a terrible need of — dare I say the word? — religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars… – Vincent van Gogh, Arles, 1888


Like cold children warming themselves by the side of a fire, we learn to appreciate the light and warmth of art. Yet few of us are ever taught to create fire, or delve into the deep well of inspiration at the root of all creation.

Monet, Picasso, and van Gogh were all artists. Poets with paintbrushes, coloring our lives with their souls. Their brush strokes are a history of the steps humanity takes, ever forward, but the colors… The colors are tears, and cries. Unseen, and too often unanswered.

Image Attribution: “Vincent van Gogh – Self-Portrait – Google Art Project (454045)” by Vincent van Gogh. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons.

I am an artist, painting words on the canvas of my life. What you take away from this is as much about you as it is me. If you'd like to learn more, follow me on Twitter, Facebook, or . To hire me, visit my copywriting page.

  • https://hjbuell.com/ H. J. Buell

    Because I was asked… I write short poems because I don’t often like or read particularly long ones. For me, poetry is a doorway. It’s an invitation to the mind and senses to experience something. Invitations that leave one wondering do far more for me than those that are programmed and scripted.